


Priorities

by temporalDecay



Series: distrait shorts [13]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 11:27:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temporalDecay/pseuds/temporalDecay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Agness Syzygy has a life shattering realization about Equius Zahhak, Equius Zahhak is oblivious to the finer points of pretty much everything but mostly Russel Zephyr, Eridan Ampora throws a tantrum and the <em>Morrigan</em> gets a new Head Admin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Priorities

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place a few days after _[Spiraling Down](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1176521)_.

“…you’re insane.” 

You stare from the tablet in your hand to Eridan’s face, back and forth, until you realize neither is about to change. He has the gall to shrug at you. 

“You don’t know how to recognize my genius,” he sniffs disdainfully, folding his arms over his chest defensively. 

You feel the nostalgic urge to kick him right in the face and the only reason you don’t go along with the impulse is because there’s a good chunk of his crew watching furtively about, staring longingly at him because even if he’s a psychotic seadweller with a thing for _perfection_ , he doesn’t have nine feet of slime monster at his beck and call. 

“No, Princess,” you snort, “I’m not fucking insane. There’s this thing called _reference index_. It’s there for _reference_. As in, you don’t have to _memorize_ the damn thing.” 

“If my admins can’t memorize a couple dozen codes, they can go back to the Academy,” he says, loudly enough to make a few people flinch and scurry about their business a bit faster. 

“There’s seventeen thousand codes in the standard spaceship procedures,” you retort, slowly, just to make sure he’s listening. “Seventeen thousand. One, seven and three zeroes. And you just added four thousand more because you like acronyms a lot more than it’s fucking healthy.” 

“Do not!” He puffs up, offended. 

You remind yourself you really can’t kick him in the face, because he technically outranks you and this is his ship. You feel yourself twitching with repressed violence anyway. 

“It sounds like you’re speaking a fucking foreign language when you’re doing inspections!” You give up and start rubbing your forehead with one hand. “And the inspections, that’s another thing. I can’t believe I’m going to say this, _but stop terrorizing your crew_.” 

“I don’t terrorize my crew,” Eridan scoffs, and you give in a little more and kick his shin in frustration. “I don’t! I _discipline_ them when they need it!” 

“You—“ 

“Admin Syzygy?” 

Eridan’s expression goes mildly feral, so you’re bracing inwardly as you turn around to find Russel’s dickhead of a Captain and Eridan’s masochist of a kismesis looming at you. You spare a thought of pure disdain for annoyingly tall trolls in general, highbloods in particular, as you tilt your head up to look at him. 

“Captain Zahhak,” you nod in deference according to protocol, even though it’s a little awkward considering you’ve seen the guy drunk and getting manhandled away by Eridan and a very bewildered-looking helmsman before. Russel’s will reading was weird, but then, it was _Russel’s_. “What can I do for you today, sir?” 

The trick, you’ve learned, is to never let people know how utterly fucking terrified you are. It never works on psychics, of course, but since the people that truly terrify you tend to be too high up the blood scale to qualify for shiny mental powers, they can’t tell how close you are to throwing your tablet away and collapsing into a singularity of profanity and possibly tears. You’re quite done dealing with people so high up the hierarchy they don’t realize it, after you had to walk Karkat Vantas down the road to get a fucking clue. Frankly, if you never have to talk to any high ranking, really important person ever again, you’ll be delirious with joy. 

As it is, Equius Zahhak has the benefit of not quite terrifying you, as you know all about his ridiculous neurosis from Russel’s whining and all about his ridiculous sexual fetishes courtesy of Eridan’s incessant need to ask for advice about the strangest things. You can’t quite fear a troll that took Russel’s babyface at face value or that is deranged enough to quadrant himself _black_ for Eridan. 

Unlike Vantas, Zahhak you’re pretty sure you can play like a fiddle, because you’re no Russel, but you know a thing or two about uptight highblood twits. 

“A word,” he says, slow and measured, sweat glistening across his forehead, “if you please.” 

Also, Zahhak gives himself away exactly as obviously as Russel always said he did, and knowing an opponent’s hand better than he does always makes the game less dangerous. 

You shove the tablet into Eridan’s hands and cut off his endearing growling, because you’re not about to become a pawn in a highblood kismesissitude, _thankyousoverymuch_ , and instead give the man a serene smile. 

“Of course, sir,” you tilt your head to the side, “please, lead the way.” 

Zahhak bows his head slightly, hiding half his face behind his hair, and then turns around and starts walking away without another word. Since he’s not looking, you punch Eridan straight on the gills, not hard enough to send him tumbling down face-first, but enough to let him know you’ll kick his ass and stick needles in the underside of his claws if he pisses you off. You leave him sulking in place and follow after Zahhak at a brisk pace, limbs loose and expression neutral. 

You’re not _terrified_ of Zahhak, not really. 

But you haven’t lived this long in a literal science battlefield without learning a thing or two about self-preservation. 

  


* * *

  


You’re not quite surprised when he leads you into the _Morrigan_ , but you can’t help to feel a bit nervous about it. The emotions are conflicting, because there are hints, here and there, soon to vanish and not precisely something anyone else might notice, of Russel’s handiwork. It feels strange, to finally step into his ship, without him being there to show you around. This was always _his_ ship, the one he actually liked serving on and where he made a crew for himself and decided he wanted to die on. He got exactly what he wanted and you can’t really fault him for it, but it’s strange, because you never expected to know it as well as you actually do. So many stories and complaints take shape and become coherent, as you trail after Zahhak, corridors and doors squirming into the mental map you had. 

You squint a bit, though, when you realize he’s leading you back to his office. 

That doesn’t sound very fun, all things considered. 

At some point, you find yourself sitting on an uncomfortably comfortable chair, with a cup of coffee in your hands and Equius Zahhak looming from across his ridiculously overflowing desk. 

“As you must be aware,” he begins, with the intonation of someone who rehearsed the speech several times in their head before speaking up, “I was at Admin Zephyr’s will reading, three nights ago. I must confess I am not quite sure why that was.” 

“Do you want the honest answer?” You grin a bit wryly at him. “Or do you want the kind answer?” 

“Honest,” he replies, without skipping a beat, looking at you with a flash of desperation that makes you give him a reluctant point in the mental scoreboard you keep for all of Eridan’s dumbfuck quadrantmates. “Please.” 

“He was meddling,” you let yourself smile a little, and politely choose to not look at him in the face as you speak. “With your quadrant grid.” Zahhak makes a sound like a wounded animal. “I mean, he did like you, I’m pretty sure. Thought you were a respectable troll and a good Captain,” Zahhak looks more flabbergasted about that than any comments on his quadrant grid, which is kind of endearing, “but he probably knew you’d feel awkward about being there.” You pause for effect. “Make a bit of a pitiful wreck of yourself, in front of the right people.” Two splotches of dark blue bloom high on his cheekbones and the sweating intensifies considerably. “’s the thing about Russel, really. He had to meddle to the end. I tend to only railroad people into relationships and quadrants when I’m mourning. Admin Ampora is quite annoyed I scrambled the grids of pretty much all his crew.” 

“I… see.” 

You take pity on the man and shrug, pausing to take a sip of the coffee you accepted more out of obligation because he offered, than any real desire for caffeine. 

“I don’t suppose that’s what you wanted to talk with me about, though,” you muse after a moment, when he doesn’t look quite so constipated. “Sir.” 

“Not quite, no,” he shakes his head slightly and sits back, placing his arms perfectly aligned with the armrests, almost mechanically. “Though it does, in a way, relate to the will reading of late Admin Zephyr.” You blink, not quite expecting that. “I have kept myself oblivious to the relationship between Admin Zephyr and Admin Ampora, for the sake of professional distance. I am aware, however, there is a similar closeness between you and my kismesis—“ It takes every fiber in your soul to keep your mouth shut and not blurt out something unfortunate about your closeness with Eridan, but as it’s been said before, you do have a very keenly developed sense of self-preservation. “I am aware he will take this conversation the wrong way, so I intent to clarify with you, before he invariably chooses to say something unfortunate. I am in need of a Head Admin, Admin Syzygy, not a pawn in a highblood sport. I would offer you the place of the former and ask you not to believe Admin Ampora when he insists it’s the latter.” 

There’s a long silence, during which you congratulate yourself for not spitting out your coffee at his face. 

“You want me,” you begin, slow and measured, just to make sure you’re not misinterpreting his ridiculous tendency to use big words, “as your Head Admin.” You lean in a little. “ _Me_.” 

“I have learned, through the sweeps, to trust Russel Zephyr’s judgment where my own might be lacking,” he replies, all prim and proper and you’re not sure you’ll resist the urge to stab him in the face. “I am willing to take his rather… colorful comment on his will as a formal nomination, if you’re interested in the job.” 

“I’m a space station admin,” you say, for want of a real answer, “I am a Head Admin, in my own way, but I deal with misbehaving scientists and idiot geniuses trying to play god. I keep _a slime monster as a pet_ because no one has ever figured out how to get rid of the thing, so they made it an actual part of my job to keep it from eating through the station.” You squint at him. “And you want me as a Head Admin.” 

“I hear the _Leviathan_ did not suffer,” he adds, one eyebrow arched obnoxiously in a very Eridan way that reminds you vividly this hulk of condensed stupid is your best friend’s kismesis. “While Admin Ampora was… indisposed and you took it under your care. The _Morrigan_ is much smaller and dare I say it, better organized.” 

You’ve seen Eridan’s painstaking organization and his pride at his unbroken audit record. You knew Russel’s penchant to do things the easy way and keep them going by sheer momentum. You remember Zahhak really did believe everything about Russel’s babyface. 

You conclude Equius Zahhak is a fucking idiot in dire need of a minder that keeps him from falling face first into a pit of spikes and poisonous slitherbeasts. 

“…I’ve felt like exploring other career options for a while now,” you say, which is the truth, but not quite, because the only reason you’ve been aimless and considering leaving Nova Pryxis behind is because Ellery finally got himself killed in a gloriously gory way, merely weeks after Odessa was reassigned to handle a navigation program full time on an academy ship. And then Russel died while you were processing the way misery always comes in threes. By that logic, though, this can’t be so bad all things considered. “But I’d probably take a while to get a hold of how things go, if the crew doesn’t revolt. One doesn’t usually bring in a new Head Admin from outside the ship, when the previous one dies. There’s probably a queue of veterans hoping for the post and all.” 

Zahhak shrugs slightly. 

“Too bad, for them then,” he deadpans unrepentantly, and you thin your lips in thought. “If you accept.” 

“May I have a week to think about this?” You know your _may I_ and _please_ and _thank you_. You’re the lowest of the high, not the highest of the low, and you’ve always been keenly aware of it. You would never forgive yourself if you got killed in some dumb way that involved manners. You’re not _Eridan_. “There are logistics to sort out, not to mention paperwork to file and put in order.” 

“I look forward to announcing your new post in a week, Admin Syzygy,” he says, smug and too damn pretentious to just answer the question like a normal person. _Highbloods_. “Unless, of course, you decide against it.” 

  


* * *

  


“Oh, shut up,” you snap, clicking your needles with a certain finality, as you glare Eridan into submission, “or I’ll accept the damn job just to spite you.” 

“But it’s _Equius_ , Ag,” Eridan goes on whining, regardless of your warnings, “he’s a rightful tool. You don’t even know.” 

“Russel liked him,” you point out with a smirk, “and you like him too, in that ridiculously perpetual caliginous way of yours that makes you drip black whenever you’re in the same room with him.” 

“ _That’s not the point_ ,” he squeaks, indignant. 

“Spite,” you taunt him, grinning a little, because you like tormenting him and he’s not supposed to know you decided to accept the moment you asked for time to think about it. “All the spite.” 

“You’re _not_ going to take that job out of spite,” he demands, halfway terrified, because Eridan is ridiculous enough to believe you and that’s why you love the melodramatic twit as much as you do. 

“No,” you roll your eyes goodnaturedly, “I’m going to take the job because your kismesis dearly needs someone to look after him and I’m bored and butthurt about the sorry state of my own quadrant grid, so I’m gonna gleefully meddle with someone else’s. That it’s messing with yours by proxy is just a bonus.” 

Eridan stares at you like you’ve grown a second head. 

“This is going to be terrible,” he deadpans, falling into a chair in defeat. “Absolutely fucking terrible, oh god, Ag, _why_.” 

You smirk. 

“And here I thought you’d be looking forward to him realizing I literally come with slime monster included.” 

“Oh,” Eridan says, like all his wriggling days came early, “my _god_ , I need to be there to see his face.” 

Life is going to be interesting, in the immediate future, and thank god for that. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Askblog for this verse.](http://requisitionforms.tumblr.com/)


End file.
